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Peony

Peony rocks onto his heels, knees spread a little, feet pointed. He lets his back sag.

He finds the first knuckle on each of his thumbs, the ones that are almost part of his palm, and presses them to his eyes. The back side, the softer part. He touches the pads of his fingers and bows his head.

This is how he is praying–not for luck or protection, but for revelation. I have shuttered my sight, he is saying; lend me Yours. Trade me, for these few seconds, vision for Vision. Eyes for Eyes.

Orange on black, the patterns begin.

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